


ghost

by AngriestPotato



Series: arbitrary smut challenge [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Backstory, F/M, very vanilla sex tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngriestPotato/pseuds/AngriestPotato
Summary: You didn't believe in ghosts, but you had to admit you had not been expecting to see Jesse McCree again in your life, especially not at 7 pm in your kitchen. Maybe the horses were right to be spooked for once.





	ghost

It was easy to pretend to be alone in the world, here in the dark with only the back of the house in the tunnel vision of your headlights, like a little boat lost in a sea of trees, not like you knew a goddamn thing about boats though, just the thought of not having ground underneath you was enough to make your chest tight with fear. Maybe that’s why you paid through the nose to maintain this wheeled car, to feel like there was something there to hold on to.

Maybe you were trying to patch a hole you ignored most of the time with things that lasted more than humans but at the same time, wouldn’t have to grieve you when you died. The topic felt too dark for the chilly late afternoon, so you tried not to think too much in that direction; attempted to limit yourself to sitting in this old, milk carton looking thing that rooted you to the ground and listening to ancient songs on the radio you managed to get working as a small miracle.

And you were mostly succeeding between sips of coffee, until one of the lights over by the far right of the _empty_ house turned on. Your thermos froze by your lips; the omnic that came to help you with the horses had said something about them being _upset_ , looking awfully scared themselves, and your heart broke a little at the thought of omnics believing in ghosts –of how grief was such an unexpected side effect of being cognizant–, but you had mostly brushed it off as horses being horses.

Now this you were seeing with your own eyes, even if you still doubted it was something paranormal. You killed the headlights and took your sweet time making your way to the light coming from the kitchen; the handgun by your hip felt cold in the fading sunshine, so you wanted to give enough of a window to leave to whoever was currently trespassing in your property, in case they were just hiding from the dropping temperatures.

But the man in your sights, with half his body in the fridge, rummaging for god knows what, didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the sudden darkness outside or by the creaking of the back porch steps as you climbed them.

  
“Can I help you? Or are you alright just stealing my food and spooking my horses?”

He moved and you registered -too late, late enough for your stomach to drop when you finally did- the hat on the kitchen table, the voice and the scent of smoke that made you reconsider the ghost theory as Jesse McCree himself pulled his head out of the fridge, half eaten peach in his hand.

“Whoa there, pumpkin,” his hands went up and he wore the same crooked grin he did whenever auntie caught him doing something he knew he shouldn’t. 

All you did was stare, though you did holster the gun again, you didn’t like using it much and liked it less with the sick, stupid impulse to run clawing at the back of your mind. You never thought you’d see McCree back in Guadalupe, not after he showed up last time in all black to ‘check on you’ and then disappeared in the middle of the night after the news of the Overwatch explosion reached your side of the world.

“I just thought I’d drop by to check on you girls,” Jesse’s mouth kept running, even as he bit on the fresh peach, but his clever eyes stayed on you, sizing up your silence, “the old lady still mad at me?”

Oh. You felt the tension bleeding of your shoulders, replaced by the familiar exhaustion of this conversation.

“She’s dead, Jesse, been for years now.”

“I… I didn’t…”

You busied yourself with the grain of the table, running a hand through your hair to avoid his gaze, no matter how heavy you felt it on you.

“It’s okay, I… she really didn’t hold a damn thing against you.”

His hand twitched, inching closer to you until you just couldn’t take it. Auntie’s words echoed in your head, ‘ _that boy is trouble_ ’, like she was still haunting the house and trying to get her good advice through to you. You had to get out of this kitchen, somewhere where you weren’t so close to McCree and you didn’t have to see the worried frown he couldn’t keep off his face.

“You… _shit_ …” you squeezed past him into the house proper, remembering in a sudden moment of clarity that you had turned the guest room into storage a while ago, “you mind staying on the couch?”

“What did you do to my room?” the humor in his voice was convincing, you suspected if you hadn’t known him since he was a skinny little boy stealing figs from the highest trees in the orchard, you wouldn’t have been able to tell it was forced.

  
You left him to his own devices ‘cause it was easy, to be honest you still weren’t completely sure he wasn’t imaginary. A part of you fully expected to find the living room empty when you got out of the shower, just the spare blankets piled by the edge of the couch and no trace of anyone but you ever being in the house. It was the irrational thought that had you walking always at least a foot around him as you helped him settle on the admittedly too small couch, he’d vanish if you touched him, you’d discover yourself alone and crazy if you let yourself hope that McCree cared enough to find his way back. And you had had your fill of that last time, of his laughter pressed against your lips as you managed to sneak him into this very shower; of how he groaned, nuzzling the crook of your neck and how his hands felt, open palmed and warm over your torso, gripping your hips.

Auntie wasn’t here anymore to scold you for moping after he left, to joke that even if he got himself killed, you’d end up with a thick headed spirit knocking shit off shelves and switching the TV on at 2 in the morning. She had sworn up and down, from the moment she dragged him inside and started treating him like as much of a family member as you were, that what Jesse really craved for, in his bones, was a home. Fuck, you couldn’t even be mad at him, you were as bound to love him as he seemed bound to live outside the law.

And you just couldn’t watch him try to make himself comfortable despite having his ankles hanging over the armrest; couldn’t turn around and ignore the way his face looked when he grimaced, pained and tired and almost lonely.

  
“Jesse,” your voice was strange, now that you heard it out loud, a sudden burst of sound that still managed to sound tiny, “you can… my bed’s a king, we can share if you want.”

“I might just take you up on that offer, pumpkin.”

  
The response came with a wry chuckle and a very worrying creak from the couch beneath him; you offhandedly thought about joking that you could set pillows between you if he was concerned for his virtue but simply hovered at the doorway staring at his mused up hair, until he finally stood to follow you.

His hat was clutched close to his chest and you were a mess of cardboard movements yourself, settling into bed as close to the edge as you dared; the pillows were starting to seem a better idea by the second, something that might stop you from following the magnetic north of Jesse’s heartbeat in the quiet room, or at least distract you from the soft whisper of your name in his too familiar voice.

“You’re gonna have to look at me at some point, right?”

You didn’t know what was that broke you, not really; it could’ve been the hint of pain in his tone or it could’ve been the warmth slowly seeping into the sheets. Maybe it didn’t fucking matter, what did matter was that you turned to him and then you couldn’t escape. McCree’s eyes were so close and so fucking sad and he _reached_ for you, so gently that his palm was almost intangible as it cupped your cheek.

“God _dammit_ Jesse,” you pretty much mouthed the words into his hand, nuzzling into his touch.

“I missed you too, darlin’”

  
The word almost made you sob, so you clung to him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and digging your fingers into his forearm. The metal of his prosthetic warmer than you expected as that hand held the back of your neck and pulled you to him until your foreheads met. And when you leaned in for a kiss, it was like doing it for the first time; no confessions or promises, just his muscles relaxing against you, a sigh so deep he seemed like he was gonna deflate before he moved with you, surprisingly soft.

You curled into him, slotted your hips against his and relished every point of pressure of his fingers hiking up your thigh to settle over his waist, only to drift back up, taking your shirt with them. You could’ve fallen asleep like that, with his hands on you and his beard rubbing your chin and cheeks, but if he was going to be gone in the morning, you wanted to feel him, to revisit all the things you loved about him.

The sound he made was still the same when you ducked, avoiding his lips in favor of tasting the vague hint of sweat over his collarbones, and you rolled over just to kick off your underwear.

“Darlin’, hey, pumpkin, look at me,” Jesse pulled you back, forcing you to stay still in his hold, “we have all the time in the world.”

You shook your head, not even daring to voice how that was a goddamn bold faced lie; you just let him kiss you again until you were dizzy in his arms and his smart fingers were travelling low again, over your spine and following the curve of your ass. This time, he didn’t hook your leg over his, his touch dipped between your bodies to find you already wet for him, his hips rocking into yours on instinct alone.

“Oh, honey, you make good on that nickname, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, half surprised that that stupid line still got you.

“Only for you, handsome.”

That was a lie too, and your giggle ended up mashed against his lips, lost in his own laughter, so you could _feel_ his grin turn wicked as he slipped a finger into you, a second one following not long after while Jesse chased your moans like he wanted to taste them. You squirmed, fell onto your back and rolled your hips into his hand, trying to breathe under the onslaught of kisses.

Pawing at his boxers, you mumbled ‘please’ until he finally caved and pulled them off. He entered you so slowly you could feel every inch of him filling you, and he didn’t seem the least bit willing to change the pace; he kept rocking you instead, barely moving, mouth always touching you –your face, your shoulders, your chest– and a thumb hard at work over your clit.

You begged and cajoled and whimpered for him, but never complained, if you were honest, his weight was so welcome over you and so, _so_ unbelievable that you couldn’t help but chuckle yourself breathless, ignoring the hint of hysteria in the sound. Your orgasm pretty much took you by surprise or, it might be more accurate to say, it was so unexpectedly intense that it left you boneless and unable to process anything that wasn’t his groan in response, the way his breath caught too.

It didn’t take long for him to come, spilling himself all over your stomach. And you only let yourself relax against him –real, warm, nostalgic McCree– as he tucked the covers around you and promised to help do the laundry in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a response of sorts for a smut challenge I made to myself, most other prompts are much shorter but since tumblr might implode I'm considering moving them here. This one prompt was 'ghost' so I wanted something about memories and touch and missing said touch, I guess, it um v clearly got out of hand.


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